


Strangers

by amuk



Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: Amnesia, Community: 31_days, Family, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She pretended to not notice the abandoned computer, the chewed up shoes in a corner, and the missing weight on her legs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Though graves might not have been a part of Faye's culture (I can't quite remember the episode where she visits her home), it is in this story. Also, the time between Faye leaving for her home and returning to the ship have been modified. 
> 
> Day/Theme: Oct 30 // I weep for my mother as I watch the sea

Faye didn't cry when she found out that only two, three students from her childhood were still alive. They had survived the long years, mostly by perseverance and luck.   
  
Strength was needed--it was hard to live in a land pelted with meteors and coated in ruined homes otherwise.  
  
She didn't cry either when she visited their graves, white teeth jutting out of the ground. Oddly, this one graveyard wasn't scarred with rocky beds and cracked with signs of age. More or less in one piece and she almost laughed at that.  
  
It figured that the dead would be left alone.

 

-x-

The old woman sat in her wheelchair, wrinkles taking over her face in waves, crowfeet lining the eyes. She didn't seem like she would last much longer, a mere wisp of a person just keeping it together out of a fear of death.  
  
Her granddaughter hovered worriedly over her, bringing water every now and then.  
  
Faye watched them, idly wondering if she had remained, would she have had a grandchild?  
  
(She wasn't sure she wanted one--Ed hadn't quite represented children well and the idea of having a litter of brats wanting her attention almost nauseated her.)  
  
"Faye, you're still so young," the old woman repeated and Faye gritted her teeth. Why was she saying this again, old age? Maybe she should just return to that sleeping state, not grow old and face these lapses of memory. Sighing, the old woman continued, "Well, when we went to school together..."  
  
She talked, her voice frail and weak. Sometimes she had to stop, unable to continue because her voice was breaking, due to overuse or memory.   
  
Faye listened as patiently as she could. This might be her last chance to learn about her past, all other sources more or less gone, used up in the reams of time.   
  
She clenched her fist, channeling her restless feelings into the scraping of nails against skin, and waited for the end.

  
-x-

  
The old woman presented her with an album. "Not up-to-date technology wise, but still good enough. Lasted a long time, anyways."  
  
Faye saw herself a thousand different times, smiles on faces mirroring hers. She could trace the girl well enough, recognizing her for who she represented but not for who she was.   
  
This girl liked to wear frocks and play sports. She was shy and nervous, willing to help anyone, and she had big dreams. One day she was going to be a dancer, an environmentalist, a writer.  
  
This girl wouldn't recognize Faye, their tastes and personality wildly different.   
  
She couldn't connect herself with this girl and wondered if that was a good thing.

  
-x-

  
Her mother's grave was nearly unmarked. Faye was her only living relative, after all, and no one else would really bother to pay extra for engravings. No one else would even care.  
  
(Not those close friends, not those worried neighbors, not even the organizations she used to participate in.)  
  
Faye left a single rose lying in front, a mark of greeting more than anything else. It couldn't be remembrance, even after all those stories she wasted three days listening to, she had no jolts of memory, no sudden bursts of insight. She was still left with no clear past of her own, those tales belonging to another girl still.  
  
(Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could still see that young girl, laughing in the camera. She beckoned to Faye, called to her, but Faye didn't know how to get to her.  
  
She didn't even know if she still wanted to.)  
  
"Goodbye, mother," Faye said, breaking the still air, and left the stranger's resting place behind.

  
-x-

When she traveled back to the ship, it was because it was her last option.   
  
She didn't really have anywhere else to go. Not yet.  
  
(Even if that annoying Spike gave her a knowing grin and Jet just gave her a calm nod.)  
  
She pretended to not notice the abandoned computer, the chewed up shoes in a corner, and the missing weight on her legs

-x-

  
She curled up that night, in a room that had become familiar to her over the months. It was still empty, still threadbare, but she planned on adding new things to it. Maybe some carpets or paintings or books, to give it that ritzy look. Or a closet full of shoes and clothes. Those tended to make a room look more lived in.  
  
Those plans didn't help tonight, though.  
  
Faye curled up tightly, a ball of her own making, and when she heard disembodied voices laugh and chatter in her dreams, when she felt a small pat on her head, she chalked it up to a lack of sleep.  
  
After all, she couldn't possibly be missing those she didn't know.


End file.
